Parum Soror
by LittleSailor92
Summary: "Good sisters always keep their promises." Danica's brother is dead. Now she's a Death Eater for all the wrong reasons. Or are they the right reasons?   Romance included, but not the main focus. Rating may change to M later
1. Strength from Purity

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters, places, spells and circumstances etc. do not belong to me. However, I do own the Greelys. **

**Chapter One: Strength From Purity**

The massive cliff jutted out over the ocean like the prow of an enormous ship. Its face was peppered with caves and outcroppings, the iron sea below hurling itself onto the rocks. The thick layer of fog that shrouded the afternoon sun muffled the thunderous crash of the angry ocean. Perched on top of the cliff was a large, sprawling manor. It was clearly old, and gave off a slight air of disorganization, for the manor had clearly once been much smaller, and over the decades successive generations had built onto or torn down parts of it to their liking. There were great stone pillars set next to flying buttresses, walls of marble and stone, and windows of all shapes and sizes dotting the many faces of the house. But in the midst of the jumble and decay, there lay an aura of grandeur and pride. It seemed to live in the very stone of the manor, breathing its long-kept secrets through the grounds so that the great mansion seemed a living thing.

A long road wound down from the manor to the mainland, flagged with crumbling columns and marble statues. At the mouth of the road was a wrought-iron gate, huge and imposing, that was twisted and molded into wicked eyes or snapping jaws that crawled and slithered over each other like snakes.

It was at this gate that stood a solitary hooded figure. Their build was slight and small, betraying the gender of a female. She stood there quietly, staring up the long road to the manor for a long time before drawing a wand from the pocket of her cloak and tapping the gate. A particularly large and sinister-looking iron dragon unwound itself from the rest, speaking in a deep, clanging voice.

"State your name."

"Danica Greely."

"State your business."

"I have come to collect my belongings."

The dragon seemed to incline its head, and a moment later, the gate creaked open. Danica rushed in before it swung shut again, the great iron dragon and its company slithering back into place where they sat, hissing and grinding together.

Danica strode quickly up the long road, wand gripped tightly in her hand. She felt strange, almost as if she were trespassing, which was odd, since she had lived here her entire life. Well, up until a week ago, that is. She passed a stone lion that growled softly when it saw her, and she quickened her step. Her mother must have found out she was here, and was alerting the extra security.

By the time she reached the manor itself, she had an entire entourage of stone creatures stalking her, and she quickly unlocked the door, darting into the grand entryway of Cliffside Manor. It looked exactly as it had a week ago, but something had changed. The crystal chandelier was still as large as ever, suspended on its chain from the towering ceiling. The floor was still covered in cool white granite that echoed her every step. The walls were still adorned with the portraits of deceased relatives, looking haughtily down their noses at her, whispering. And yet, there was a distinctly different feeling riding the air, something strange and hostile that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Danica knew she didn't have much time.

She passed through the entry hall and strode quietly up the great winding staircase. First floor, second floor, third floor all passed beneath her leather-clad feet until she reached, at last, the familiar corridor that had once been hers and her brother's. It looked the same as it always had, with its ebony floors gleaming with polish and its vaulted ceiling, but the same current of hostility had wound its way up here, too. Danica walked past the familiar doors and alcoves until she came to a stop at the end of the corridor. Her door hung ajar, and a watery ray of sunlight caught the tarnished silver of the knob, setting it slightly aglow.

A thick layer of dust had settled over her room, giving it an eerie deserted look, as though the owner of the room had mysteriously died. Danica wasted little time, however, pondering over the hygienic status of her room and went quickly to work, pulling a large leather bag out from under her cloak. She went to her wardrobe, yanking robes and cloaks off hangers unceremoniously and stuffing them into the bag, doing the same with her underwear and socks.

Her hand lingered over a set of spectacular diamond earrings and a matching necklace that she had received last Christmas, but she remembered where she was headed, and thought it best to take only what she needed. At the last minute, she slipped a small silver ring onto her finger. She had been told it was her father's.

After retrieving a large sack of gold from behind a loose wall panel and stowing it away in her bag, she gave the room one last look. She soaked in every detail, from the old sage-colored drapes to the soft and downy whiteness of her bed, resting safely in its black iron canopy, to the ancient musty chest of drawers that sat against the wall. This was it: the end. There would be no return journey to Cliffside Manor.

Out in the hallway, it was shadowy and dark, and her footsteps echoed spectacularly through the corridor. A bit too spectacularly, she thought, for it seemed impossible that only one set of feet could cause that many reverberations. Her question was quickly answered, however, as a tall and livid figure came striding down the hall, shrieking.

"_YOU!_"

Danica smiled wryly. "Hello, Mother."

Illandria Greely had clearly once been very beautiful, but now, she merely looked extremely frazzled. Her eyes bulged angrily as they caught sight of her daughter.

"What are you doing back here? You were banished a week ago!"

"I remember clearly, Mother dearest, but your anger alone cannot keep me out."

"Wh- what!" her mother sputtered.

Danica spoke calmly, as though they were merely discussing the weather, which seemed to only provoke her mother further. "I believe you forgot to reset the gate."

Her mother turned from red to a blotchy shade of purple. "You have no business here! Filthy criminal! GET OUT!"

"I have only come to collect my things," Danica scowled. "Do you honestly think I could live next to the woman who refused to bury her only son?"

She spoke the last part in a dangerous whisper, and she reached into her pocket, fingering the handle of her wand.

Danica's mother let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Son? He is no son of mine! Just as you are no daughter of mine! Now leave! I have had enough of you."

"A public cemetery," Danica was shaking now, but fought to keep her voice steady.

"What?" Her mother seemed confused.

"A damned _public_ cemetery!" Danica's voice was rising quickly. "My brother! My _pureblood_ brother, last son of the Greelys, buried next to Muggles, commoners, all manner of filth! All because you wouldn't grant him the last great honor of being buried next to his ancestors!"

Her mother shook her head slowly. "Where did you learn to think like this? That is _not_ how I raised you!"

"_Raised me_?" Danica's voice dripped with hatred. "You never raised me! Always cooped up in your rooms, weren't you, the greatest witch of our time! The next Rowena Ravenclaw! Never giving a second thought to your poor children, never proud of their accomplishments, because we weren't like _you_! I bet you cried yourself to sleep the night Damien wrote home that he had been sorted into Slytherin! And then, when I joined him there, you thought it simply a waste of time to consort with such greedy and self-centered folk such as us!

"I was _eleven_! Eleven years old, and I had to come to grips with the fact that my own _mother_ didn't want me! So I learned to live alone. Oh, Damien did his best, far better than _you_, anyway. He found a place, a niche; somewhere he felt he could belong, somewhere that he could become something _great_! And he _did_, Mother! And so will I! So don't talk about how you raised me, Mother, because the truth is, you never loved me. I'm going to stay loyal to the one who took the time to tell me how proud of me he was, how I was coming along so well, how he _loved me_, Mother! LOVED ME! You want me to be like you? You should've taken some time, shouldn't you?"

Danica's mother said nothing for quite some time. Finally, she said, "You and your brother! You're just like your father! Arrogant, cruel, power-hungry!"

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I? Because you never took the time to tell me what Father was like! Secrets, secrets, secrets! I guess we did turn out like you, then, Mother. We both learned how to deceive."

"Your brother deserved what he got!" Her mother shouted. "Deviant, criminal, murderer! I am glad to be rid of him! And you! You're on your way to becoming just like him! A- a -"

"A what?" Danica sneered. "A Death Eater?"

Her mother flinched.

"What?" said Danica. "Are you afraid? Is Illandria Greely, the famous Ravenclaw, the greatest witch of our time, afraid of her little daughter? Afraid of what she'll become?"

Her mother said nothing.

Danica moved toward her, smirking. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Mother. You should be."

"So, so it's true?" Her mother whispered, beginning to shake. "You really killed a man, Danica?"

"I did," Danica said. "I avenged the only person in the world who loved me. Is that such a hideous crime?"

"And you're going to throw away your life for him, Danica?"

"I made my brother a promise, Mother, that when I left school I'd join the Dark Lord. He wanted me to be safe, he wanted to keep an eye on me."

"Safe," her mother whispered.

"I'll hold true to that solemn vow, Mother, until the day I die. Nothing you can do is going to stop me."

Danica began to walk towards the staircase, but her mother called out. She stopped. "Yes?"

"Are you going to kill me, Danica?"

Danica laughed. "Mother, I knew how to kill you when I was fourteen. After three years of restraining myself, I think I can manage a few more."

The loud thud that echoed behind Danica alerted her that her mother had fainted. She sighed, starting down the stairs. The portraits in the entryway were whispering loudly amongst themselves. A few, relatives on her mother's side by the looks of them, called her names or made rude hand gestures. An old Greely, though, smiled at her and said,

"Greelys keep their word! Honor your brother!"

The walk down the hill was even stranger than the journey up. There were no growling lions or menacing statues, but an air of sorrow and finality that tore at her heart. This was it. Goodbye. She had nowhere to go, no one to take her in. No purposes save the promise that she had made her brother.

Initiation. She shivered a little, despite herself. What horrors lay in store for her when she entered the service of the Dark Lord? What dangers would be thrown at her? Would she be deemed useless, only to hang in the background? Or would she be rejected all together, sent out onto the streets to scratch a living on her own. She barely noticed when the gate swung open for her one last time.

"Goodbye, Danica Greely," said the iron dragon.

"Goodbye," she replied. She heard the gate seal shut, hissing and creaking, and looked up at the manor one last time. With a whispered sigh, she pulled up her hood and, gripping her bag, turned on the spot.

The Cliffside blurred before her eyes, and she was squeezed through space and time until she appeared outside the gate of a deserted cemetery. She unlocked the gate with a flick of her wand, smiling slightly to herself as she did so. Her Trace had been lifted just days before, on her seventeenth birthday. Now she could do as she pleased.

A dirt path wound through the middle of the enormous graveyard, little paths branching off to different parts of the cemetery. Danica wound her way to the farthest outskirts, a place where the graves were ancient and cracked. Her brother's grave was easy to find. The white marble tombstone shone like a candle in the darkness. Engraved on its face were the words:

Damien Alexander Greely

1978 - 1997

_"Vigueur de pureté"_

Strength from purity.

She sat there for a long time, thinking.

"Damien," she whispered. "What do I do?"

The wind stirred the leaves on a nearby willow, making them sigh. She tried to remember what he had told her, but they had never planned on his death.

_"I will be with you,"_ he had told her on that terrible night. It was hard to believe that it had happened only a week ago. Her life seemed to have split into two halves, one where Damien had been alive, and one where he was gone.

_"If I get captured, don't go home,"_ he had said.

_"Then where do I go?"_

_ "Seek out Narcissa Malfoy, she has agreed to help you."_

Malfoy. She knew the son, Draco. He had been in her year. She always thought of him as rather unpleasant; they had never become friends. Last year, countless rumors were flying around about him. His father was in Azkaban, convicted of being a Death Eater. Many insisted that he had replaced his father in the Dark Lord's circle. The truth became apparent when he let a band of Death Eaters into Hogwarts, including her brother.

While the others ran off to wreak havoc in the castle, Damien had come and found her. She had made the promise, agreed to follow him back to "headquarters", wherever that was, and start a new life.

She remembered the horrible realization that it was her brother who had tumbled backwards off the second floor balcony, his neck snapping instantly as he landed in a crumpled heap on the ground.

She had found the Auror who had killed Damien, and recalled the chilling feeling of satisfaction as she had tortured him for minutes before finally ending his life. Chaos had broken out on the grounds, and she had run towards the front gates of Hogwarts, Damien's limp form floating before her.

_"Don't go home,"_

His words were lost to her as she clutched his body and Disapparated, reappearing at the front gate of Cliffside Manor. Her mother had turned them away, leaving Danica to plead with the aging Muggle mortician to give her a place to bury her brother. The shame of it still brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. Her brother deserved so much better.

Now, with a destination in mind, she conjured a single white rose out of the air, laying it at her brother's grave.

"I'm keeping my promise, Damien," she said.

The willow sighed again, the breeze playing in her long dark hair.

_"I will be with you,"_ it whispered to her.

Danica gave a small smile before turning sharply on the spot, every fiber of her being stretching out towards Malfoy Manor. If her future was anywhere, it was there.


	2. The Initiation

**Disclaimer: Just ask J.K. Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Two: The Initiation**

It was raining at Malfoy Manor. Large, fat drops showered Danica, soaking her through in seconds. She ran, clutching her bag tightly, until she arrived at the main gate. It was as large as her own, but instead of a dragon, the gate twisted itself into an intimidating face, opening its large wrought-iron mouth.

"State your business."

"I am Danica Greely, here to speak with Narcissa Malfoy.'

The gate seemed to ponder this for a minute, but finally the face split in two and she was allowed to step inside. The walkway up to the Manor was bordered with tall green hedges. Once she thought she saw something moving on top of one, but she saw no other living thing until she came to a stop at the front door.

It swung open even before her hand touched the knob, but Danica could find no one holding the door. She stepped cautiously inside. It was dark, too dark to see much. She wandered about blindly for a bit before remembering she was allowed to do magic and lighting her wand. Danica examined the room, finding that it bore quite a resemblance to her own entryway, the only difference being the amount of luxury, and the people in the portraits. The Malfoys, it seemed, were slightly wealthier than her own family.

A loud cry suddenly echoed behind her, and she was lifted off the ground, suspended by her ankle. Danica screamed, flailing wildly as her cloak fell over her face, obscuring her vision. Her hand groped for her wand, but her tormenter anticipated it, crying,

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Her wand landed on the ground with a clatter some ten feet away.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a voice cackled.

Finally untangled from her cloak, Danica found herself staring into a pale, haughty face framed in long black hair. She recognized her as Bellatrix Lestrange, a Death Eater who had broken out of Azkaban when Danica was in her fifth year.

Bellatrix giggled again. "A spy for the Order, perhaps?"

"Spy?" Danica shook her head, which was now full of blood and feeling quite heavy. "I'm no spy!"

A cruel smile lit up Bellatrix's face. "We shall see about that." She raised her wand. "Time for a little questionnaire. _Crucio!_"

Pain unlike anything Danica had ever known flooded her body. Molten fire ran through every vein, a thousand knives stabbed every inch of her. A scream tore from her lips, ripping its way out of her throat.

"I'M NO SPY!" she shouted over the terrible rushing in her ears. "I'M DANICA GREELY! GREELY! DAMIEN'S SISTER! STOP! _STOP_!"

"Stop it, Bella!" A new voice cut sharply through the air, and Bellatrix released Danica from the curse. She huddled on the floor in a crumpled heap, running a hand over all her extremities, amazed to discover they were still there.

"Are you alright?" the voice said.

Danica said nothing for a long time, but finally pulled herself into a sitting position, nodding.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy," said the voice, which belonged to a tall woman with white-blonde hair and a long, pale face. Her mouth was contorted into a scowl, but her eyes betrayed a slight hint of concern. "You must be Danica Greely."

Danica glared at Bellatrix. "Yes, I am."

"You recognize the similarity between them, sister?" Narcissa said to Bellatrix. Danica knew they were talking about her brother.

"I do," said Bellatrix. She turned to Danica. "Forgive me. I was a bit...hasty."

Danica scowled, having no intention of forgiving Bellatrix. She turned to Narcissa.

"My brother told me to come here if anything were to..." she bit back the tears that sat threateningly in the corners of her eyes, "to happen. He said you had agreed to help me."

"Why should we help you?" sneered Bellatrix.

Danica took a deep breath. "Because I'm here to take my brother's place. I'm here to join."

The room was silent for a very long and awkward minute, then, Bellatrix gave an ear-splitting shriek of laughter.

"_Join!_ You hear that, Cissy? She wants to _join_!" Bellatrix sneered down her nose at her. "Listen to me, little one. Becoming a Death Eater isn't like joining a Quidditch team. It takes loyalty, dedication, courage, skill!"

Danica seriously considered informing Bellatrix that all those qualities were also necessary to join a Quidditch team, but decided against it. "What makes you think I haven't got any of those things?"

"Have you ever _killed_ a man, Miss Greely?" Bellatrix inquired, acting as though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," Danica said quietly. "As a matter of fact, I have." Both Bellatrix and Narcissa started; she now had their full attention. Narcissa looked slightly sick. Bellatrix, however, gazed at her appraisingly, clearly surprised.

"Well," she said. "It seems I have underestimated you, Miss Greely."

"Yeah." Danica said. "That tends to happen."

For the third time that night, a long silence passed between them. Danica finally broke it.

"I made my brother a promise. I swore that when I chose to leave school, I'd join him in the service of the Dark Lord. I have been disowned, deserted, and deemed a filthy criminal. But I'm smart, I learn quickly, and I will be loyal and steadfast until I die. I'm not exactly sure how these things work, but I _am_ sure that this is my last and only purpose. If I don't belong here, then I don't belong anywhere."

Both Narcissa and Bellatrix looked thoroughly shocked.

"I'm ready to become Initiated." Danica finished simply.

Narcissa gave her head a slight shake. "You will find your room on the second floor corridor. It is the third door down on your right. Do not come out until we tell you to, do you understand me? This is of utmost importance."

Danica nodded. "Thank you," she said, striding over to retrieve her wand before climbing up the broad staircase, leaving the two women behind in the dark entryway.

The room was large, larger than her old room by far. Dark curtains hid a broad bay window; they matched the linens on the bed. A fire roared inside a handsome fireplace. Above the mantle was a large portrait of a blonde, pale-faced gentleman dressed in eighteenth century finery. Occasionally, he would move about slightly, as though he were changing poses for a painter. It eventually became apparent that he was trying to impress her, for every time she turned away, he dropped his cane with a loud clatter.

As afternoon faded slowly into night, the room grew darker and darker until the only light in the room came from the dying fire. The man in the portrait had long since given up on her, and was now leaning sulkily against his frame, twirling his wand. Danica sat on the bed in silence, amusing herself by making small embers from the fire zoom about the room. She didn't know how long she had been there, watching the flames.

When the grandfather clock in the hall announced that it was ten o'clock at night, Danica began to worry. What was taking so long? Perhaps she was too young, or perhaps the Dark Lord thought her weak and childish, unfit for the life of a Death Eater. Every nerve in her body itched to open the door, if only for a moment, just to see what was so important that it had to be kept hidden. She sat there on the bed, staring at the door. Another hour passed. Then another.

As the clock struck midnight, Danica thought it best to try and fall asleep. She foraged inside her bag for a while before reappearing with a pair of gray silk pajamas. Danica hung her robes in a large wardrobe before climbing into the bed. It was soft and comfortable, and as she lay her head down on the pillow, she became aware of just how tired she really was. She was asleep in minutes, but her dreams were filled with strange hooded figures and faceless dead bodies.

Danica awoke to total darkness. Her stomach filled with icy dread. Was she _blind_? She groped helplessly in the blackness for her wand, tumbling onto the floor. Rough hands gripped her arms, yanking her to her feet. She cried out, struggling against them.

"Quiet!" someone hissed, and she ceased. She heard someone take her wand off the bedside table; a hand hungrily caressed her neck. The blood rushed to her cheeks then, and she found her voice.

"Take your hands off me," she demanded quietly. "I can walk on my own."

The hands gripping her arms did not relent, but the greedy fingers drew away from her neck slowly. Danica realized that this would be the extent of her freedom, and allowed her captors to steer her out of the room and down the corridor.

On the stairs, one of the men tripped over his robes, tumbling down the staircase and taking both Danica and the other man with him. They landed in a disorganized pile at the foot of the steps. Danica's blindfold was knocked askew, and she saw one of the men's masked faces in the wandlight. He was getting to his feet slowly, cursing and rubbing his head.

"Damnit, Dolohov! What the hell's the matter with you?"

The other, Dolohov, seemed to mutter something about it being so dark, and his robes being too long. Danica thought this was a pretty lame excuse. Apparently, so did the first man.

"Merlin's beard, Dolohov, are you a wizard or not? Light your own damn wand if it's so bloody dark!"

"Shut up, Yaxley!" said Dolohov, who stood up suddenly, knocking Danica off balance. She fell off the last step with a muffled "oof!" This seemed to get both Yaxley and Dolohov's attention, for they stopped bickering immediately. The taller one, Yaxley, stepped over her and tugged the blindfold back down over her eyes. Dolohov snickered.

"Nice try, little girly," he said. "But you'll see only what we want you to see."

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, feeling quite vulnerable.

"Initiation," said Yaxley. Danica could detect a note of maniacal glee in his voice, and shivered.

The two Death Eaters, for that was clearly what they were, half-lead, half-dragged Danica across the carpeted entryway until they came to a stop.

"Should you open the door, or shall I?" came Dolohov's voice.

"I thought you were given instructions!" hissed Yaxely.

"No, you're in charge, _you _should've gotten the instructions," said Dolohov.

Suddenly, Danica heard the door swing open, clearly on its own, for both men gave little gasps.

"Yaxely, Dolohov," said a high, cold voice. "It seems as though you cannot even accomplish such a simple task as retrieving a seventeen-year-old witch."

"My-my Lord," sputtered Yaxely.

"Silence," said the voice. "Bring her forth."

All at once, Danica felt herself tumbling forward onto hard, slick wood. She heard a few people laugh.

"Arise," came the voice again.

Danica had no time to comply, for she was roughly forced to her feet. The room went completely silent for a few long seconds.

"My friends," said Voldemort, for it was obvious that it was he. "We are gathered here tonight to witness an Initiation!"

The Death Eaters in the room shouted their approval, stomping their feet. A few whistled.

"Her blood line is pure," said Voldemort.

Again, the Death Eaters voiced their excitement.

"Her resolve is strong," he said.

But this time, the crowd was silent. Clearly, they were waiting for something. Voldemort's voice echoed softly through the room, this time much closer.

"Her brother served me well," he hissed. "I have high expectations."

Suddenly, Danica was jerked upward into the air, suspended by invisible ropes that wrapped around her wrists. A scream rose in her throat. It was all she could do to hold it in. The drawstring on her pants was coming undone, and the silky fabric slipped lower on her bony hips. She crossed her legs tightly, praying that they stayed on.

There was a great rushing noise, and all at once, the blindfold dissolved like smoke before her eyes. The sudden presence of light caused little spots to pop and fizzle through her line of vision. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting in the room, and she thankfully glanced around. She was suspended about ten feet above the ground of a long, grand room. At the far end was a huge fireplace; a gilded mirror hung above the mantel. She could see her reflection in the glass. Her long hair fell about her face in shiny black curtains, giving her a strange, drowned look. Shadows cut deeply into her face, making her look gaunt as a cadaver.

She looked down, shuddering as she did so. Two long lines of Death Eaters had formed below where she hung, their upturned masked faces gleaming in the firelight. Some had drawn their wands. They were eerily quiet, as though waiting expectantly for something extraordinary to happen. Danica watched them, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Something was missing here... something was wrong.

Suddenly, he was there. Voldemort, his long black robes billowing in an invisible wind, his deathly pale skin giving off a slight glow. He was right there, in front of her, inches from her face. The crimson eyes bored into hers, their slit-like pupils narrowing. Danica froze, paralyzed by fear. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All she could do was to stare into those terrible eyes, red like freshly spilt blood. She could feel him inside her head, rifling through her memories, picking them up and inspecting them as though they were items to be bought and sold. She caught glimpses of them, fragments and pieces of her life. She was eleven, and the Sorting Hat was shouting, "SLYTHERIN!" She was fourteen, watching as a green jet of light shot out of her wand, striking an unsuspecting rat dead. She was fifteen, reading the Daily Prophet and laughing at her brother. It was a week ago, and Damien was begging her, "Promise me, Danica."

He was falling, carving a graceful arc through the night air before he snapped his neck with a sickening crack. She was shouting, crying, "NO! DAMIEN! _NO!_" She could see his eyes staring blankly up at her, unseeing, dead. It was too much...

And then, the images faded away, and she could feel Voldemort pulling out of her mind, closing the connection. Someone was snickering, and then another, until the entire room filled with jeering laughter.

"Oh Damien!" shrieked a Death Eater in a horrible, mocking voice. "Not Damien! Nooo!"

Danica felt the heat creep up her neck and flush into her cheeks. Clearly, she had cried aloud. She glanced at Voldemort, but he wasn't laughing. Instead, something like a cruel smile curled his lipless mouth. It was almost worse.

"Silence," he said quietly, but all the Death Eaters seemed to hear, and the laughter ceased immediately.

"Danica Greely," he addressed her at last, his high, cold voice hissing in her ears. She tried her hardest not to flinch.

"Yes, my Lord?" she whispered.

"Do you wish to serve me?"

"Yes, my Lord, I do," she responded truthfully.

"Why should I accept your service?"

Danica's stomach dropped sickeningly. She had absolutely no reason why her service would be different than anyone else's. Finally, she settled on telling him the truth, since, she figured, he would find it out anyway.

"My brother, Damien Greely, served you loyally. On the night of Albus Dumbledore's death, I swore to him that when I left school, I would join you. I remain loyal to that promise, my Lord, and I will until the day I die. I swear that I will serve you as unfailingly as my brother. Whatever you ask of me, I will obey. My life belongs to you." She spoke the last words in a whisper. "Do with it what you will."

Nobody said anything for a long time. It was if the room was frozen in time; the very air seemed to stay where it was. Then, suddenly, Danica felt the unseen ropes binding her hands release, and she fell to the ground. The rushing air tore a scream from her throat. Just when she thought she would hit the ground, she stopped. Her nose hovered, inches from the floor, and she realized that her pants had come completely off. She gave a mental sigh, being too winded to do so in reality. The magic that had saved her from severe injury was released, and she fell the remaining inches to the floor. Despite the small distance, she still managed to smack her head on the wood. She sat up, rubbing her head and glancing around, unsure of what would happen next.

Danica suddenly felt a cold hand close around her left wrist, yanking her into a standing position. She watched, horrified, as Voldemort placed the tip of the Yew wand to her skin. He uttered no incantation, but instead gave his wrist the tiniest flick. All at once, she felt something writhing beneath her skin. A gray shadow began to appear on her forearm, becoming clearer and clearer as it forced its way to the surface. She gasped in pain as the living ink squirmed and slithered into place, pulsing outward from beneath the first layer of her skin. It was livid and black, crawling up her flesh, a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull: the Dark Mark.

"Death Eaters!" Voldemort shouted triumphantly. "Tonight a new member joins our ranks!"

Without warning, Voldemort dug his thumb into the writhing mass that was the Dark Mark on Danica's arm. The pain was indescribable, worse even than the Cruciatus Curse, for it crawled inside her very mind. The world went dark, and Danica fell forward onto the ground, unconscious.


End file.
